Battle of the Bands
by 11Destiel11
Summary: Destiel AU. Sam and Dean are in a world-famous band. Castiel is in an unknown garage band, mainly unknown for the fact that Cas has a stifling social anxiety that causes him to dread performing on stage. Both bands compete in a "battle of the bands." But what was expected to be a low-key competition turns into something much more life-changing.
1. Prologue

**AN: I guess I'll just jump right into this... This isn't the first fanfic I've written, but it IS the first one I've published. Consider this a sort of test. This is the prologue right here, so if anyone wants to see more, a review or favorite or follow or really anything would boost my confidence a lot. Even a negative review. Probably. Maybe. I'll stop talking now.**

"Dean!" Sam was yelling. "Open up!"

Dean sighed, setting his laptop aside and lazily vaulting himself from his bed. He shuffled to the door and opened it just enough to see his brother's beaming face. The excitement displayed clearly in his wide eyes made him look as if he was twelve, not twenty-two. It was funny how he could do that; trick you into thinking he was so freaking innocent with his puppy dog face and compassionate attitude, when really he was a six-foot-four mass that was more lethal than he let on. But the annoying bitch was interrupting his Dean time; that was unacceptable, puppy dog eyes or no puppy dog eyes.

"What do you want? I'm a little busy," Dean snapped, glancing lustfully back at his computer, which was— thankfully— turned away from Sam. He wanted to get back to his Busty Asian Beauties.

"Dude, you have to come read this."

Dean pursed his lips thinking for a few seconds about whether to turn his younger brother away or not. After casting one more gaze back at his computer, he let out a sigh. "This better be really freaking good."

The taller man grinned and led his brother down the hall to his own room. As he shoved open the door, a nice gust of cool air greeted the boys. It was a hot, June day in Kansas and just the short trek between air-conditioned rooms through the non-air-conditioned hall had Sam and Dean sweating.

Sam immediately went to his laptop, which was sitting open on his desk. Dean followed closely. He was logged into the band's official email, and there was an email pulled up on the screen. Dean rested his hands on the back of his brother's chair and leaned down to read it. It looked something like this:

Hello members of The Hunt!

My name is Kevin Tran. I am a senior at LawrenceHigh School. For my senior project, I have decided to host a "Battle of the Bands." I heard that Sam and Dean graduated from Lawrence, so I thought that it would be a wonderful idea for your band to participate in my project. I would love to have you if you could make it. Email me back if you'd like more details.

Thank you.

Kevin Tran, Advanced Placement.

"So?" Sam prompted, an expectant smirk evident on his face.

"A high school project?" Dean questioned with a frown. "We've toured in Europe, Sammy. Don't you think a high school project is a bit… low-class? And what's up with this Kevin dude? Who signs off their emails with 'Advanced Placement?' What the hell?"

Sam rolled his eyes, obviously unsatisfied with the other man's answer. "Drop your ego a few notches, Dean. Don't you think it'd be fun to revisit our old high school? It's for a good cause. "

"You want us to be used for some hoity-toity dude's grade?"

"Oh, come on, Dean. It's not like we have anything else to do."

"We _could _be writing songs if you'd get off your ass and help me out."

"It'll probably take hardly a week. Admit it, there's no good reason not to go."

"I'm sure I can think of some reason."

Sam sighed and turned his eyebrows up rather than saying anything. His gaze bore straight into his brother. He knew that Dean wouldn't last long under scrutiny of his puppy dog eyes; he was right.

"Dammit, Sammy! Put that face away!" He pursed his lips. "Fine, we'll go to the freaking Battle of the Bands."

His pout split into a grin. "I'll text Jo and Garth."

Sam retrieved his phone from his pocket as Dean sulked back to his room. He slammed the door shut, plopping onto his bed and lovingly placing the laptop back on his lap. "We probably won't be able to see each other again for a little while," he said to the busty Asian beauties on his screen, thinking sourly of the little amount of alone time he'll be able to have in the upcoming Battle of the Bands, "so let's make this last time a good one."

* * *

Castiel huffed out a breath, taking out his phone and pretending to text someone. He was waiting for his order at Starbucks. He had come here with Balthazar, but his friend was currently in the bathroom and standing alone in a public place made Castiel extremely self-conscious.

"Medium coffee with two creams," a girl in her late teens called distractedly, placing a Styrofoam cup on the counter beside Cas. He grabbed it immediately and brought it over to the counter with condiments and what not on it. After adding three sugars to his coffee and stirring it in, he began to shuffle to one of the tables near the window at the front of the shop when he heard his name being called.

"Castiel!" Balthazar was yelling. Cas blushed as several people in the store looked toward the bathrooms where his friend was wildly gesturing for Cas to come over. Scrunching up his nose, he ran over to the blond man.

"Cut it out Balthazar," he hissed, "people are staring."

"Come on, Cassie." Balthazar nudged the other man's bicep with his elbow. "You gotta get over your weird social anxiety if you ever want to perform on stage. Besides, you're totally at least an eight, maybe even a nine. You should want people to look at you."

Cas pursed his lips, an almost pained expression crossing his face. "What does that even mean?"

"It doesn't matter, that's not why I called you over here."

"Then why _did _you call me over here?"

Rather than replying, Balthazar pointed out a flyer that was pinned to the bulletin board in front of him.

Cas frowned as he studied the paper. "Battle of the Bands," he read aloud, "at Lawrence High." He cast his scowl at Balthazar. "Are you suggesting we partake in this?"

"We'd get a record deal if we won. This could be our big break, Cassie!"

Castiel dropped his eyes to the floor. "Balthazar, I don't think…"

"This could be good for _you, _Cas. You could finally get over your anxiety, y'know? The more practice you get on stage the fewer issues you'll have."

"Anxiety isn't a sport, Balthazar—"

"Come on, Cas. You can't pass up this opportunity for the band. Think about where this could take us. You have to get over your anxiety eventually."

"You don't just magically get over anxiety!" Cas barked suddenly. A few of the people around glanced toward them yet again, and Cas wanted to curl in on himself and never have to face the world.

Balthazar's eyes softened. "I know you don't, Cas. But you can't spend your entire life in your shell. Please, Castiel? Do it for the band."

Castiel looked up at his friend through his eyelashes. "Fine. We'll try out for the stupid thing. But I doubt we'll get far."

Balthazar ignored the blue-eyed man's negative comment as his face split into a grin. Cas couldn't help but smirk at his friend's overly ecstatic expression.


	2. Day one, part one

**AN: Okay, it's been like... ten days since I posted the prologue and I'm really antsy to really delve into this thing, plus I have a few announcement type things, so I'm just gonna go ahead and post what I have.**

**Firstly, this fic is unlikely to have a posting schedule or anything of the sorts since I'm really busy with school (and I'm also in theater... the production is in the beginning of December so my time will free up a bit then). So basically I'll sporadically post things.**

**Which leads me to my next topic: I was thinking of making each chapter a different day: The chapter after this would be the rest of day one, then the chapter after that would be day two, etc. But each chapter would probably take me forever to make and post, so I may decide against that. Thoughts? Also, I'll probably change the rating to M because I'm positive I'm going to start swearing a bunch, there will probably be a bit of gore, and there's like an 80% chance of smut later.**

**By the way, huge thank you to those of you that reviewed and followed and fav'd. I'm debating making a shrine out of your usernames. Remember, if you like my fic, I always appreciate reviews :) I think that's the end of my rambling. Without further delay, I'll give you the actual story.**

Approximately three days later, the members of Smite the Sound—Castiel, Balthazar, and Anna—walked into LawrenceHigh School.

"Where do we go?" Balthazar muttered.

"The sign right there is telling us to go to the auditorium, Poindexter," Anna teased.

"I didn't see it," Balthazar retorted, but Castiel and Anna were already walking in the direction of the next sign directing them to said auditorium. Balthazar jogged after them.

Lawrence High wasn't a particularly big high school, but it did have a nice auditorium. It looked as if it could hold somewhere around 500 people and was two separate floors, the floor and the balcony. It had a high, ornate ceiling that made it look more like a town theater than a school theater. There were people filling the ground-center seats. Some were chatting idly, some were tuning instruments, and some were just sitting. It didn't look like everyone there was in a band. There must be some people that came to just watch the competition.

"We'll be starting in five minutes," a male voice stated over some sort of loudspeaker. Everyone quieted immediately to listen, but as soon as the sentence finished, the noise picked back up. It was quieter this time; just a dull roar of last-minute preparations.

Castiel, Balthazar, and Anna took some empty seats in the front-and-center section with everyone else (although some people were leaking into the side sections and some weren't sitting at all).

As soon as their butts touched the cloth, a man who looked slightly older than Castiel (who was twenty-five) bounced over to them. He had hot whiskey eyes, slicked-back hair, and a mischievous grin donning his face. He sat in the chair next to Balthazar and leaned forward to get a good look at all three of the band mates. "I'm assuming you three are a band?"

Balthazar and Anna nodded while Castiel clenched his jaw and avoided eye contact.

"Cool. I'm Gabriel."

"I'm Anna."

"I'm Balthazar," he gestured to Cas, "And this is Castiel. He's shy."

"Oh?" Gabriel said curiously. Castiel cursed Balthazar for drawing attention to him. "What do you play, Castiel? Bass? Drums?"

"He's the lead singer," Balthazar answered for him.

Gabriel's eyebrows arched and he barked out a laugh. "A shy lead singer? Good luck with that, bud."

Cas bit his lip and blushed, making fists around the fabric of his pants. Anna shot him a sympathetic look and said, "You're such a great singer, you know, Cas. You're going to do awesome today and we're going to win this thing." She glanced over at Gabriel and added, "No offense." Gabriel just put his hands up in a "None taken" gesture.

A new band walking in seemed to catch Gabriel's attention. Apparently the man was going around and introducing himself to everyone. Castiel didn't think anything of it until Gabriel grappled onto Balthazar and they both gasped in unison.

"That's—" Gabriel squeaked

"The Hunt!" Balthazar finished.

Anna perked her brows as if she recognized the name and craned her neck to see, but Cas was unfazed.

"Holy shit," Gabriel breathed. "If they're gonna be competing then no one here stands a chance."

This sparked Castiel's attention. He looked around Balthazar and his new friend to find a group of four people—three guys and one girl—sauntering through the auditorium doors.

Gabriel let out a long sigh at this point and pined, "Ugh, the freaking Winchesters won the genetic lottery."

"Are they all Winchesters?" Cas inquired.

"No. The Winchesters are the two tall dudes in the front." Balthazar clarified, not taking his eyes off the band.

Castiel inspected the "two tall dudes in the front." The taller of the two (and tall means tall—like, well over six feet) had floppy brown hair that spilled onto his forehead. His eyes were hazel and fox-like and his mouth was curved into a light smile as he gazed around the room.

The other man, who looked about six feet tall (an inch or two taller than Castiel) had these interestingly green eyes that were glaring at the floor. His hair was short a dirty blond color and sort of spiked upward.

Cas had to admit… They really did win the genetic lottery.

A voice stuttering "Um" resonated throughout the auditorium, followed by a short screech from the microphone, and brought everyone's attention to the stage.

There was a teenager standing there. He was Asian and appeared to be seventeen or eighteen years old. He had black hair that was in need of a haircut, covering his forehead and spilling down the back of his neck.

"Uh, hi everyone," he continued once everyone's attention was on him. "Thanks for coming. My name is Kevin Tran. Welcome to the Battle of the Bands." He paused for a short burst of cheering (lead by Gabriel) and then continued with a different topic. "For our first performance we have a real, famous band to start us off in the competition. Good luck to all of you. Please welcome to the stage—The Hunt!"

The Hunt, whom had sat within the leftmost chunk of seats, stood and made their way to the stage during the "Welcome" applause.

When the clapping and cheering died down and the band was getting their instruments situated, Castiel nudged Balthazar to get his attention. When his friend looked at him, Cas leaned over and muttered, "So who's who?"

"The one with the guitar is Sam. Sam Winchester. The bass player is Garth Fitzgerald," he paused, and then added as an afterthought, "the fourth. The one by the drums is Jo Harvelle. And the one in front, the singer, is Dean Winchester."

As soon as Balthazar finished his explanation, the band started playing. It was some rock-y song that Castiel didn't recognize. It could be an original. They were _famous, _after all (insert sour mockery into the word famous). Regardless of Castiel's recognition, they were pretty good. But they had to be good if they were _famous._

About twenty seconds into the song, Dean started singing. Despite himself, Castiel's breath caught in his throat.

He'd heard some good singers in his life time. He happened to be one, or so he'd been told. But Dean… Wow.

Several thoughts chased each other around Castiel's head. Dean's voice has this texture to it, this emotion behind it that made even upbeat songs like the one they were performing seem soulful. It's like he was reaching for something; begging for something. Like his graceful high notes were letting you peek at who he was underneath the husky glint to his low notes. It made Cas want to meet him, to know him, to dissect his mind and solve him like a puzzle.

He actually wanted to talk to this person.

He stared at this performance with parted lips, breathing the music, his tongue darting out as if to taste when the chords met his mouth.

As the song lapsed into a guitar solo, Dean yanked his head away from the microphone, pouting his lips and bobbing his head in beat to the song. After a few seconds of this action, he grinned and reached over to his brother to ruffle his hair as the larger Winchester's finger climbed impressively closer and closer to the body of the guitar, casting screaming notes at us.

Sam finished his solo with a jerk of the guitar and immediately dove at his brother's head to get him back. Dean ducked out of the way with a laugh and stumbled back to the microphone, grabbing it toward him and taking the stand with it. He sang the chorus again, ending the song, and the audience burst into cheers.

"Thank you," Dean said with a smile. He and his band mates left the stage just as Kevin scurried back to the microphone.

"Wow," he commented. "That was great. Give it up for The Hunt!" He paused for another burst of cheering from the audience. "Up next is The Hunt's quickly-rising rivals, The Hunted!"

A hushed chatter wove through the crowd and Gabriel quickly turned toward us, his face beyond excited, "Oh my God, The Hunted is here too?"

Balthazar arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips. "I've never heard of them."

"_Never _heard of them?" Gabriel barked disbelievingly. "Are you kidding? Last month they put out a bunch of threats and stuff toward The Hunt saying stuff like they're a shitty band and don't deserve their fame or whatever. It was all over the internet."

Balthazar paused, evidently searching for words. "What the hell?" He came up with finally.

"I know. And the worst part of it all is… they're actually kind of good."

As if on cue to prove Gabriel's words, a husky voice said quietly into the microphone, "Hello, Lawrence."

Most of the crowd's attention shifted almost immediately to the source of this voice. It was a rather average-looking man. He had short, dark hair and the beginnings of a beard gracing his jaw. He was holding the red electric guitar that was already on the stage and smirking into the microphone.

His tone was cocky and deliberate, like he was talking to a room of children. His voice was gruff, but still soft, almost secretive, and decked with a British accent.

Castiel observed the other people on stage with him. It was two other men, one at the drums and the other holding a bass guitar. They were both similar to the first in age and average appearance and had that same air of cockiness and superiority.

"Who's who?" Anna asked Gabriel suddenly.

"I don't know much about them, but I know the guy at the microphone is the singer. His name is Crowley. The bass dude's name is Dick, Dick Roman I think, and I got no idea with the other one. Azackle? Azagle? Something weird like that."

Crowley gazed confidently over the crowd as the few still-chatting members grew silent. "Alright, Lawrence; we're gonna play a little song for you."


	3. Day one, part two

**AN: Hiiii everyone! I finally pumped out another chapter, this one's a bit longer than the last couple. But, unfortunately, I have an actual fuckton of announcements, so bear with me.**

**First of all, I give a huuuuuge thank you thank you thank you to anyone who's reviewed so far. I read and reread the reviews and then stay up to unreasonable hours of the night writing this damn fanfic. They fuel me, they really do. And I will continue to beg for more every chapter.**

**Second of all, Lawrence High is not actually based off the real Lawrence high school, if there is one. I have never been to Kansas. Lawrence High in this fic is actually based more off my own high school than anything. On that note, keeps changing it to LawrenceHigh School for some reason, so just ignore that. Also, I write pretty much everything besides fanfiction in first person, so I may occasionally switch to first person if I didn't catch myself before posting. To state the obvious, I have no beta.**

**Thirdly, I like to do parallels with the show and other fanfics. There's most likely going to be a Twist and Shout reference coming up, so prepare yourself for violent war flashbacks. And I struggled to decide if Michael was going to be Matt Cohen or Jake Abel. The hardest part about this though is deciding what kind of music each band plays. And now we segway into my next topic.**

**If you have any ideas, I'd love to hear them, I might use them. The only thing is that I basically refuse to write Sabriel and Wincest so don't expect them.**

**This is getting really long so I'll speed this up: I'm pretty charismatic and I have no firsthand experience with social anxiety. I don't mean to offend anyone if I get something horribly wrong. Also, I don't play any instruments, but I know a lot about singing, so that's something.**

**So I guess I'll end this obnoxious announcement spree and let you get on with reading.**

_"Alright, Lawrence; we're gonna play a little song for you."_

Castiel leaned forward expectantly. Gabriel and Balthazar's unhealthy interest in these bands had intrigued him. He half expected them to start playing metalcore or something, but instead the band started an unexpected song that Castiel actually recognized: Changes by David Bowie.

The band may have been good, but Castiel was weary of them. They all looked dangerous. Like they were planning to beat up a kid out behind the school.

"Ch—ch—ch—changes," Crowley sang, winking at a girl in the audience.

Cas took this moment to remember this band's hatred of The Hunt. He didn't understand it (in fact, he thought it seemed ridiculous creating an entire band based on rebelling against them. The Hunted? Really?) but he did want to see The Hunt's reaction to the petty insults they evidently seemed to be throwing around.

The Hunt, it seemed, couldn't care less. Sam had his phone out and was grinning at the screen. Garth was actually smiling and tapping his foot along to the song. Dean and the drummer— Jo, he recalled— were laughing and whispering to each other. Occasionally they pointed at different parts of the stage and lapsed into fits of giggling, as hushed as possible so as not to disturb anyone around them. Cas suddenly wished he was closer to the pair so he could hear what they were saying that made Dean laugh like that. _He_ wanted to make Dean laugh like that. But he was in a completely different section than them. The spots around them had been completely filled as soon as they sat back down after their performance. It seems they had quite a few fans in the audience.

Castiel didn't understand the strange fixation he had on this man. Sure, it was common for people to fixate on celebrities, but not Cas. He didn't like people. He didn't understand them, frankly. He can't even understand Balthazar and Anna. But now, suddenly, he wants to understand. He wants to try, at least.

The longer he watched Dean the more the music sort of turned to background noise. There was this rawness to the man. He had a vulnerable laugh. His eyes crinkled genuinely and he flashed his pearly teeth, throwing his head back when he occasionally laughed really hard. He wanted to tell someone all of the observations he could possibly make about the man. Anna, perhaps. Was that normal? It probably wasn't normal. Anna would laugh and call him a weirdo and tell him people didn't do that. That's what she usually did when Cas did something unusual. Sometimes Balthazar would just chuckle and ruffle his hair and leave Cas bugging him to tell him why he laughed.

Jo whispered something to Dean just then and stood from her seat. She hunched over and ran up the aisle toward the exit as if to try and be as little of a distraction as possible. Dean watched her go. But, of course, he had to notice Castiel blatantly staring at him. He caught Cas's gaze with his fascinating green eyes.

_It's not normal to stare at people, is it?_ Cas worried. _Of course it's not. Why do I do these things? Obviously it's not normal. But, I mean, he's famous, should he be used to it? Is it normal to stare at famous people? Damn it, this is hard. Why does this have to be so hard?_

Dean stared at him with a straight, unchanging expression for the approximately five seconds that Castiel's internal struggle happened.

_Oh, Christ, why isn't he looking away? Why am I not looking away? Is this normal?_

Suddenly, there was applause all around. Cas took the distraction thankfully, looking curiously around at the clapping people and then to the stage to notice that The Hunted had finished their song. He snuck a glance back at Dean, but he was facing the stage now, joining in on the applause.

By the time Cas looked away from Dean, Kevin was already back on stage. "That was great! Interesting that The Hunt's rivals happened to show up here, huh? Good luck competing against two famous bands, folks.

"I should take this time to mention that I've managed to secure a great prize for the winner of this competition… A record deal." An excited murmur rippled through the crowd. "So the best of luck to everyone, and up next we have the Ghostfacers!"

The 'Ghostfacers' were a ridiculous band composed of a handful of teenagers. Cas assumed they went to Kevin's school and heard about the competition. They weren't very good, regardless; mostly just made a bunch of noise. Most of the bands that followed were like that as well. There was a lot of variety, though. There was a band of rather old people with an odd name that had something to do with Cocoa Puffs, and a group of what looked like middle schoolers who had a very long and obviously child-made name, and all ages in between. Some of the bands were good, however

There was one composed of entirely girls. They dressed edgy, acted edgy, and played edgy music, but man, they were good. And there was also a group called Charlie, Chuck, and Becky that was three people: a singer named Becky, an acoustic guitarist named Chuck, and a musician named Charlie that basically played every other instrument possible. Charlie switched instruments three times in their one song, and it was the general consensus that one of them was definitely a mandarin.

After a reasonably talented band performed called One Will Rise, Kevin informed the crowd that a band called Arch was next.  
Gabriel suddenly flung himself from his seat with a "Yeah!" He turned to us. "Looks like I'm on. I'll just warn you now: We're pretty awesome, so prepare for your mind to be blown."

He skipped off toward the stage where three other men were already waiting. One with dark skin and short black hair had his shoulders thrown back and his head bowed, calmly scrutinizing the bass guitar supplied for him. The other two seemed to be in some sort of heated and hushed argument. And those two men were like yin and yang.

One had well-groomed, dark hair and cheeks flushed with anger. If he had feathers, they would be ruffled right then. He had a well-toned body, as was seen through rather thin t-shirt, and was gesturing frustratedly to something behind the other man.

Said other man had light blue eyes and lighter hair that was cut short and simply. He had light stubble that was slightly hard to see due to its blond nature. His face suggested he was more annoyed than anything. He frowned, and although Cas couldn't hear his words, he could tell just by the look on the dark-haired man's face that the blond had said something sarcastic and unnecessary.

Gabriel bounded over to them, clapping a hand onto each man's shoulder. He seemed to resolve their argument fairly quickly, but Cas had a feeling it was only a temporary resolution. Gabriel probably had to put up with that all the time. It was a shame; he seemed like such a nice guy, even if a little out there.

His hands slipped from their shoulders and he trotted over to the drum set. The dark-haired man stalked over to the microphone, flashing the audience a charming smile when he reached it. The blond man sent one last irritated glare at the back of his aggressor's head and picked up the red guitar.

"Hi there," the previously mentioned aggressor greeted the audience.

He was charming, sure, but there was something off about him... Him and the rest of his band. It was like Gabriel was the only one who didn't seem dangerous. Something in the set of his shoulders, something in the slope of the blond's eyes, something in the clench of the bassist's jaw. It was off.

Anna nudge Cas with her elbow and leaned over to whisper something to his the instant before the band started playing. "Are you overanalyzing people again, Cas?" She teased. "You've got that look on your face."

Cas shrugged sheepishly. His eyes fixated on the guitarist as he started playing. He snarled down at his guitar, and it suddenly hit Cas. He recognized the vibe around this man, the dangerous air—it also belonged to The Hunted. It was the same "kick a puppy" look, the sort of cocky superiority mixed with a quiet aggression. He told himself to stay away from these people; they could surely be nothing but bad news.

He suddenly took Anna's playful words to heart, becoming very self-aware. He didn't know what "that look on your face" looked like, but he tried to morph his face into a way that looked relaxed but presentable. Was anyone looking at him? It felt like everyone was looking at him. How long had this band been playing? Why were they already done? Had it really been that long?

His hands automatically moved to clap along with the audience around him. Sometimes he really hated himself. Why did he have to think so much, to care so much?

There were a few more ridiculous bands and a few more actually good bands, and Castiel was getting antsy. He leaned over to Anna after a band of teenagers played some song that involved a lot of screaming. "When are we going? Did he forget about us?"

Anna smiled at him reassuringly. "I'm sure it's fine, Cas. I doubt he forgot about us."

"How can you be _sure—_"

He was interrupted by Kevin's voice, which seemed to be happening a lot that day. "Next up we have our very last band of the day, Smite the Sound."

"See?" Anna said pointedly and stood from her seat. Balthazar was already walking toward the stage, and Cas and Anna followed him.

Cas turned to Anna as the "welcome" applause started. "Anna, is it… Can we do Hey Jude? I know it's acoustic and all, but—"

"Of course, Cas," Anna soothed. "I like that song, you know I do."

Cas let out a relieved sigh. It seemed like all his friends ever did was reassure him. God, he was such a nuisance…

The trio trooped over to the small staircase leading up to the stage and climbed up it. Balthazar caught Kevin by the arm as the boy was walking down said staircase and asked quickly, "Do you have a piano or keyboard or something?"

"Backstage, stage right," he replied, continuing his journey back to his seat.

Balthazar ran up to Cas. "Piano's backstage," he informed his friend, pointing to the piano that was just visible behind the curtain on stage right. Together they wheeled it out onto the stage.

Balthazar started to walk away, but Cas grappled onto his sleeve in reaction to the deep fear that suddenly struck him. "I changed my mind, Balth, I can't do this."

"You _can _do this and you know it. We've played this song a thousand times with no audience in your garage, what's the difference now?"

"They're all _looking _at me, Balthazar."

Cas couldn't take his eyes off the quietly chatting audience. Someone pointed in his general direction and felt bile rise in this throat.

"Then show them what you've got. You have what it takes to wow this whole goddamned room—I've seen it."

Cas couldn't respond. He felt lightheaded, and begged himself to stay upright. Balthazar simply clapped him on the shoulder and sauntered over to his place behind the drum set. Cas looked over at Anna, who was already looking at him with acoustic guitar in hand, and she gave him a nod. He forced a small smile on his face for her sake.

He brought the microphone stand over to the piano and adjusted it to the necessary height, then took the bench off the piano and sat down.

He wanted to make some charismatic comment greeting the audience or introducing the song like the other bands tended to do, but he knew he couldn't. He might as well not even try. Save himself the embarrassment. Most people would recognize the song immediately anyway.

He took a deep, shaky breath in. "Hey, Jude," he sang, surprising himself with his voice's steady sound. His hands moved over the piano automatically, not even needing to think about the chords that he's played countless times. "Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her into your heart, then you can start to make it better."

His next deep breath was less panicked than his first. "Hey, Jude." Anna joined in with the guitar and Castiel was soothed even further. He concentrated on the familiar sound of his friend playing, bringing himself back to all the times they played this song for fun. He remembered a time a few months ago. The three were laughing as Cas walked over and started strumming Anna's guitar for her, followed by Balthazar promptly attacking him with a drumstick.

Cas smiled as his two best friends joined in with background vocals. Balthazar occasionally likes to sing opera rather than the actual background vocals, and that always causes laughter since Balthazar can barely sing the backup vocals. His "opera" is atrocious.

The blond man came in with the drum part as if summoned by Castiel's thoughts. Cas smiled at him over his shoulder and Balthazar grinned in response. "Na na na na, na na na na," they sang passionately to each other as they generally did at that part.

Cas decided this performing business wasn't really so bad once you got into it. He was here with his band, his best friends, just like he always was. They'd played this song a thousand times; they knew it like it was Row, Row, Row Your Boat or something. The only difference now was the audience, which he had not looked at even once.

"So let it out and let it in. Hey, Jude, begin. You're waiting for someone to perform with."

He remembered playing this song once. Balthazar's drumstick went sailing out of his hand at this part of the song and hit Anna in the shoulder. To this day they still tease him about it, saying he needed to refrain from beating people with his instrument. "Do you see Anna beating people upside the head with her guitar?" They'd question.

"No, but Cas kills people with his voice," he'd retort, and proceed to make a shrieking noise.

"Hey, Jude," Cas and Balthazar sang together in present time. "Don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better. Remember to let her under your skin—"

Cas looked to Balthazar for the obligatory moaning of "Oh!" at this point and was not disappointed.

"—then you begin to make it better, better, better, better, better, better oh yeah!"

The whole band sang the unforgettable "na, na, na, na na na na" part with vigor. This part made up about four minutes of the seven-minute song, but they just sorta sang it until they got sick of it, which sometimes took much longer than four minutes.

Balthazar stood suddenly, gesturing for the audience to sing along and clapping largely before returning to drumming. Much to Castiel's surprise, the audience actually complied, clapping and singing along sloppily. The singer chanced a look at the crowd.

Most people had big smiles on their faces and were singing to their friends and band mates. A good amount were clapping or swaying. Each person with their own individual finesse and personality and style, coming together in this room. Cas beamed with pride. They were enjoying this music he was creating, laughing and singing along, having fun just like he always did… There wasn't anything like it. He stood suddenly, abandoning the piano (the audience was loud enough to excuse its absence) and grabbing the microphone from the stand. He travelled to center stage, deciding to throw out some of McCartney's odd improvisations, "Jude, Judie, Judie, Judie, Judie, Judie, wow!"

He clapped along with the audience, gazing out on them. Gabriel was in between the bickering men in his band with his arms around them, the three of them swaying and singing. Even the members of The Hunted seemed to be enjoying themselves a bit.

Castiel's eyes fell on Dean, curious to see how the man was reacting to this song, to his music. He was singing along, looking at his brother with a meaningful look on his face. Sentiment? He was smiling almost sadly. Sam hooked his arm around his older brother's shoulders, forcing him to sway along with him, and Dean grinned broadly. Cas decided he wanted Dean to never lose that smile. It suited him so well, such a genuine smile. Was it weird to call another man beautiful? Because that's the word that came to his mind.

Cas forced his eyes away from Dean and turned to looked at his friends. Together they held out their last "Hey, Jude," to end the song. Balthazar went crazy on his drums and Cas strung together a long line of improvised notes, spinning back around to the audience with a "Yeah!"

A satisfying applause burst forth immediately. Cas stared at the crowd in awe, panting a bit, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up from his throat. He couldn't believe he just did that. There were so many damn people watching him, and yet… Really what he was thinking about was that he hoped he had impressed Dean. It sounded strange, and probably a bit creepy, but he couldn't help it.

He put the microphone back in the stand and made his way back to his seat with his band. As soon as they sat, Anna turned to him with a huge grin. "That was so great."

"I _told _you that you could do it, Cas," Balthazar pointed out, "and what did you do? You fucking killed it."  
"Did you see how into it the audience was getting? Oh, God, that was so cool."

Cas smirked softly, content with listening to his friends banter about the performance, until Kevin made his way onto the stage for what seemed to be the final time that day.

"It's been a really great turnout and I'd like to thank everyone for coming," he started. "The next round will take place in two days. The list of bands that made it through will be posted on the front of the school and each band will be sent an email. Have a great day, everyone!" He paused, and the audience immediately started chatting. He added uncertainly, "And if anyone wants to stay and clean up, help would be much appreciated."

About half the bands left immediately. The other half were left packing up their instruments and such. Cas turned to Balthazar and Anna. "I think we should stay and help out."

Balthazar snorted. "Yeah, right. I'm not doing that."

"Oh, come on."

"You stay, then. I'll be in the car. Anna, come with me."

Cas looked to Anna, and she smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Cas. Don't be too long."

He stared after Balthazar and Anna as they hurried out of the auditorium with most of the other bands.

Turns out, not many people stayed to help out.

Basically no one, in fact.

Cas was staring begrudgingly at the piano wondering how he was going to move such a heavy thing alone, wheels or no wheels. He bent down low and put his shoulder and hands on it, heaving with a grunt. It squeaked forward a few inches.

"Balthazar, God damn it," he muttered to himself, "where are you when I need you?"

"Need some help?" An unfamiliar voice asked from behind him.

Cas turned around and had to refrain from gasping aloud. Of all people, Dean Winchester was standing there offering to help him. _Dean_. Castiel tried hard to pinpoint just when he became such an obsessive fangirl.

"Yes," he attempted to say, but it came out as a strangled whisper. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Please."

He turned back around to face the piano, avoiding eye contact as Dean came up beside him. "Ready?"

Cas nodded wordlessly, dug his heels into smooth floor, and shoved. The piano rolled forward effortlessly with Dean's help.

"The kid said this goes in the music room," Dean informed him as they pushed. "I guess he said there was a door backstage or something."

"Yeah," Cas confirmed quietly. "Right over there."

They rolled the piano over to a set of double doors and Cas hurried up to them. He shoved one open, kicking a doorstop into it to hold it there, and searched around for another doorstop for the other door. There wasn't one backstage and there wasn't one anywhere in the hallway the doors lead to. Cas was at a loss. "I don't…" he began. "There's only one doorstop."

"Just hold the door open, I'll push the piano."

"All by yourself? Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Don't worry about it."

Cas reluctantly complied, moving out of the way and holding the door open with an extended arm. He watched the piano come rolling steadily out the door and into the hallway until Dean came into sight, and he became transfixed.

He closely examined the way the muscles in his arms tensed as he pushed the piano. The way his face was set with concentration. The way the clench of his jaw defined his jaw line gloriously. The way he had just a bit of stubble on his face. The way his eyes were a startling shade of green. The way his eyelashes caught the light. The way light freckles dotted his face. All these little things that made him want to stare at the man for hours.

Sadly, the piano was now fully in the hall and Dean turned to Cas, who pretended he was not just blatantly staring at him. Staring is weird, isn't it? "Can you go get the other doors? The music room's over there." He nodded his head at another set of double doors a few feet away.

Cas grabbed the doorstop from the first door and used it to prop open the other, using the same tactic of holding the door open for Dean. He took advantage of the extra few seconds to admire the famous singer; he was alarmingly perfect.

Cas let the door as soon as the piano was all the way in the room and hurried to help Dean push it into its place. Once, this task was completed, Dean stepped back and put his hands on his hips. He gazed around the room, a far off look on his face. "I kinda miss this place," he said distantly.

Castiel swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "You miss it?" he questioned, adrenaline pumping through his body in anticipation of actually having a conversation with a stranger. What if he messes up completely? What do you even say to people you don't know? Just don't speak too much; don't mess anything up…

"Yeah. I'm an alumnus. Graduated '05."

"Interesting."

He turned to Cas then, leaning against the piano as he spoke. "You were pretty damn good today, by the way."

Cas felt his heart speed up. "Thank you."

"I really love that song: Hey Jude. Brings back a lot of memories."

"Oh?"

"My mom…" he began, but his voice trailed off. He shrugged, staring hard at the ground.

"What?"

"I don't know. I guess if you wanted to hear my life story you could look it up online or whatever."

"No," Cas said a bit too quickly. "I mean, it's okay if you want to… talk, I don't… I don't mind, that is."

Dean shook his head. "Nevermind. I don't know why I even started. I don't usually go around talking to people about my problems and shit."

"I don't usually go around talking to people at all."

He looked up at the man beside him at that comment, noting that he was being completely serious. "You're kinda weird." Cas felt panic shoot through his body. Did he say the wrong thing? Did he mess everything up? "I like it, though," Dean continued. "You're quiet. More of a listener. It's nice to talk to someone without them screaming in my face or nagging me or whatever. It's all I get these days. Screaming from my fans, nagging from my brother, screaming _and _nagging from my agent…" he let out a breath of laughter and shook his head. "I'm complaining again."

"It's okay, I like to listen."

He shrugged. "You're just kinda… different."

"I believe that's called a cliché," Cas teased in a burst of courage. "The famous man meets the one special person that doesn't absolutely freak out in his presence."

Dean stared at him for a while with a surprised look on his face and Cas was yet again afraid he said the wrong thing, but Dean just chuckled. "Yeah, I guess it is. What's your name?"

"Uh, it's Cas. Castiel."

"Well, Castiel, I'm Dean Winchester."

"I know."

He smirked. "You know? You a fan?"

"My friends are."

He chuckled again at that, and replied with "I believe that's called a cliché: The one person that's not a fan getting to meat the famous man." In both their cliché explanations, they obviously left out the part where the special person and famous man inevitably fall in love. He had a feeling this would not be an appropriate thing to mention. The two lapsed into silence that made Castiel squirm. He was never sure if what he was saying was right, if it drove people away or not. He felt heat rise up his neck and gave in to the urge to stop the panic, "I should, uh, go. My band mates are waiting for me in the car."

"Okay. I'll see you around, then?"

Cas nodded and forced himself to calm down for just long enough to smile and say, "It was nice talking to you."

He strode out of the room without giving Dean a chance to reply to this statement.

Everything was so confusing. He didn't understand his own emotions. What, exactly, was it that he was feeling? Was it the adoration that many of his fans felt for him? Was it something else? There was no way he could tell.

He had a lot of thinking to do.


	4. Day two

**AN: Gah! I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. I've been working fervently on it for the past week. The week before that was tech week, you see. I had literally no time. And before tech week I had a horrible case of writer's block. But I had a burst of inspiration, and the play is over now, so I have plenty of free time and maybe even a direction for this fic to go in.**

**Regardless, I'm starting to delve into the fact that Cas has a not-so-nice past. For this chapter, I say both you're welcome and I'm so sorry. Warnings for some sort-of rape. If anyone realizes what Cas's dealio is, especially based on the very last part, kudos to you.**

**One last thing. I've been gliding along, playing "How many f-bombs can I drop before I change the rating to M," but I figured this chapter is just pushing the boundary way too hard and I'm changing the rating now.**

* * *

_Greetings!_

_I'm pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into the next round of Lawrence High School's battle of the bands. We will meet again next Tuesday the 15__th__ at 3:00 PM. I have attached the complete list of bands that have made it through to the second round and the order they will play in on Tuesday._

_Thank you._

_Kevin Tran, Advanced Placement._

** . . .**

Acidic Wasps

This Year's Headline

Brett and Company

The Hunt

City of the Night

Destiny Be Damned

Black-Eyed Susan On Your Grave

Charlie, Chuck, and Becky

Fate

The Hunted

Ghostfacers

One Lane Road

Arch

Garbage Man Entourage

Smite the Sound

The Red Pants Solution

Secondary

Wishing On A Lifetime

Math Connections

One Will Rise

* * *

"Dean! Let's go, we're gonna be late!"

Sam leaned again the kitchen table in their hotel suite. He checked his watch again and sighed, glaring over in the general direction of Dean's room. He was surprised to find his brother actually responding on the first call, striding out of his room and toward the door with his jacket in hand.

Sam hurried to get out the door before Dean let it slam closed. "Where are we again?" he asked the man trailing behind him. "How long does it take to get to Lawrence? We can't be late."

Sam lifted his eyebrows at him as they made their way to the elevator. "You're peppy today."

Dean pressed the down button to call the elevator and shifted from foot to foot. "Am I?"

"What happened to not wanting to compete?"

Dean glanced sidelong at his brother. "Well, we made it this far, might as well just accept that we're not backing out now."

He stared at the elevator doors as Sam looked at him speculatively. The taller man opened his mouth to confront him, but the elevator arrived and Dean jumped right in. Sam stepped in after him, throwing him a legendary bitchface. He sighed, deciding he'd question his older brother later.

The covered the 20-minute drive in about 13 minutes, arriving at the high school at 12:58. They met up with Jo and Garth, who were already in the auditorium. They were talking to three teenage girls; Garth was grinning and gesturing wildly. Jo and the girls laughed as the Winchesters approached. Garth noticed them first and waved largely, causing the teenagers to turn awe-filled eyes on the brothers.

Sam put on a polite smile and went to talk to the girls and his band mates, but Dean was distracted, looking around the room. His eyes fell on the man from the first round on Saturday—Cas, he said his name was. He smiled at the memory. His band played the song, Hey Jude. The song his mom used to sing to him when he was little before the house fire took her. Dean was only four when she died, but he still remembers her clearly. Still misses her.

But he doesn't know why he suddenly decided to start talking to Cas about it. His problems are his own. Well… he has to keep his game face on for Sammy and Jo and Garth; who else was there to talk to? As soon as he heard Cas sing that song, he felt like he could trust him. Like he could _talk _to him. Just talk and talk and do a little more than talk…

He shook his head abruptly to clear it. Sudden thoughts like that wormed their way into his mind every time he thought about the dark-haired man. It surprised him, and maybe scared him a bit. He'd always been such a ladies' man. He didn't want to confront the thoughts, didn't want to think about the fact that he might be—

"Dean," Sam was suddenly next to him, causing Dean to jump out of his skin. He couldn't help but be paranoid that his younger brother had read his thoughts. Sam continued, "Those girls are just over eighteen and you're standing here alone. You feeling okay?'

"I'm fine, Sammy," he insisted, glancing at the taller man and then back to his preferred view.

"So what is it, then? Some other girl you're after?"

"No." Dean made the mistake of keeping his gaze on Cas as he spoke.

Sam took a long pause, following his brother's line of sight and slowly sliding his eyes back to his face. He spoke slowly, as nonchalantly as possible, like he was just casually sliding meat past a hungry tiger, "…A guy, then?"

"What? No!" Dean snapped, wheeling on him. "I'm not gay, Sam!"

"Dean, it wouldn't change my opinion of you if—"

"Shut up! I'm not gay!"

Sam sighed heavily and sauntered back to Jo and Garth, muttering, "You keep telling yourself that…"

* * *

Cas sank lower in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and vehemently drumming his fingers against his bicep. He did not want to be in that high school at that moment. He wanted to be anywhere _but_ that high school at that moment. Specifically, he wanted to be somewhere very far away from Dean.

His stomach churned at the mere thought of him. He hadn't been able to get him off his mind; his olivine eyes, his heart-capturing smile, his goddamned _existence. _It wasn't fair. Why was he so obsessed? He talked to the man once. Just once. And that one conversation had replayed in his head over and over.

He was very, very aware that Dean was sitting six rows in front of him, listening respectfully to the band that was playing. Had a band been playing? Castiel hadn't noticed. What band was this? He thought it had to do with someone's name, Brett, something or other. Ah, it didn't matter now, everyone around him was clapping and the band was setting their instruments down. How many bands had been on before them? Kevin was talking now, introducing the next band. He tried to listen, but couldn't concentrate. His thoughts strayed persistently. He knew Dean's band would be the fourth to perform—oh, God, there he was, standing up now. He sauntered to the stage on his bow legs, casting his band mates a comforting smile and nod as they ascended the small staircase.

Cas drummed his fingers more aggressively the longer he gazed at Dean. He watched him adjust the height of the microphone, watched his fingers skim along the mic itself and then down the pole supporting it. He shivered, struggling to not think about his dream last night. But then Dean turned to Sam and said something he couldn't hear over the muffled chatting of the crowd. An almost cocky smirk decked his face after his brother responded, and that was too much. His dream came spilling back to him.

* * *

_ Cas was sixteen. Dean was seventeen, going on eighteen. Cas was sitting in the back of an abandoned pick-up truck at the Edge of the World, the closest thing his town had to a wasteland, waiting for something. For someone._

_The truck dipped slightly, alerting Cas to the presence of another body beside him. Dean was perched on the truck as well, looking off into the rolling dirt hills of the lot. He didn't spare a glance at Cas, but he didn't really mind. "I thought I'd find you here."_

_Cas merely grunted in reply, staring hazily at the boy._

_"I've got something for you," he elaborated, and Cas held out his arm eagerly._

_The dream fuzzed, skipped a bit, and suddenly Dean's naked chest was pressing against his back. He felt fingers gripping his hips, harder and harder, nails digging in. He was vaguely aware of something pounding hard in and out of his ass. He didn't specifically think it hurt, he actually couldn't feel much of anything besides a floating sensation, but he was screaming; screaming hard, like he was being murdered. He was screaming so hard, so desperately, he thought he tore his throat open from the sheer panic of his cries. Blood was pouring from his mouth, streaming down his legs, his esophagus, it was bleeding through his neck and spilling over his chest. He realized that he was screaming words. "Stop!" he shrieked over and over through the gurgle of blood. "Please, stop!"_

_Panic overwhelmed his senses. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe, blood was filling his lungs, he was drowning in it. He couldn't cry out anymore. His vision faded, it was all black_

_Cas woke with a start to find tears on his face and screams flying from his mouth._

* * *

The dream flashed through Cas's head, and he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand it, the tormenting images crunching through his head. Throwing himself from his chair, he pushed past a few sitting people without a word, running to the entrance of the auditorium and barreling through the double doors. He wasn't sure where his feet where taking him. He was stumbling down a hallway, desperately sucking in gulps of air, using the wall as a support as he traversed the area, and then suddenly he found himself in the band room.

Thankful that no one was in there, he careened over to a corner and sunk to the floor, pulling his legs close to him.

"It's a dream," he panted. "It's a stupid fucking dream, it's just a dream."  
_You know it's not_, half his mind pointed out.

"That wasn't Dean. That was not Dean, Dean did not do that, Dean isn't—he wouldn't do that."

_Brady did. Why wouldn't Dean? You met the man three days ago. You don't know anything about him._

Cas's eyes stung with tears, but he didn't want to cry. He refused to let himself cry; there was no way he was wasting one more goddamned tear over that fucking man. _Brady. _His stomach knotted with fear at the mention of the name. He hated that it did. He was so sick of living in fear of someone that was not anywhere near him anymore. But there was always that nagging voice at the back of his head saying he was never safe, never fucking _safe—_

"Hey," said a voice that Cas recognized immediately. And he did not want the owner of that voice to see him like this. He left his face buried in his arms as Dean continued, "Your band is kind of freaking out wondering where you are…" he trailed off as he noticed the man before him showed no intentions of lifting his head or really moving at all. "Hey," he repeated cautiously, "You okay?"

Cas silently willed him to go away. His throat felt as if it was closing in on itself. There was no way he could talk. To top off the situation, the tears finally won and spilled from his eyes. They were caught by his sleeve before they got far, but his eyelashes stuck together, his eyes rimmed with hot, salty tears. His frustration at crying now of all times did not make matters better.

He sniffled and immediately heard footsteps coming rapidly toward him. Dean's voice came again, this time right in front of Cas's bowed head. "Are you crying?"

"N-no," he reassured quickly, his voice thick and struggling to form words. "I'm okay."

Dean's hands closed around his biceps sending fire through his body and ice down his spine. "You're crying."

He shifted his head so his cheek was on his arms and he was facing the wall. "I'm okay. Really." Cas knew he wasn't fooling anyone with that, but he was hoping Dean would get the hint and leave.

"Dude, you're definitely not." Cas felt hands on his cheeks and suddenly Dean was holding his face in both his hands, forcing him to look at the kneeling man before him. The tears, now with no cloth to restrict them, threatened to run down to meet Dean's hands, but if Cas could have one thing, just _one damn thing, _then he'd stop that from happening. Enough fucking _tears. _

But of course he couldn't. He couldn't fucking do anything, the worthless piece of shit. He cursed the tears spilling down his face, cursed his eyes for crying them, cursed his brain for telling his eyes to cry them.

He thrust himself to his feet, pulling out of Dean's grasp, but the other man quickly followed. "Did something happen?" he questioned. "Are you hurt or something?"

"No," Cas assured, though it was a lie. He viciously wiped the tears from his face and pressed his hands into his eyes. "I've told you, I'm fine," he barked, snapping his head toward his interrogator. All the anger rushed out of his body as if it was fluid and a tense, nervous feeling replaced it in his gut. He hadn't realized Dean was that close.

"I mean— sorry," Cas whispered.

Dean just nodded slowly in response, and a silence fell between the two. Cas's heart beat erratically. His stomach was flipping around, filled to the brim with butterflies.

He gazed hard into Dean's green eyes, feeling like he was drowning in them. Those eyes were staring back at him with an undecipherable expression, dragging over his face, down his chest, and then back up to his lips. Cas's breath hitched in his throat when Dean took his face in his hands and pressed their mouths together. For the first time in possibly forever, Castiel's mind shut down and his body took over.

He found his hands snaking around Dean's torso and clutching to the thin, grey t-shirt on his back. The taller man reacted by carding his hand through Cas's dark hair, curling his finger in the top of it and tugging back his head to deepen the kiss.

Cas had no idea how it happened, but suddenly he was against the wall, Dean's chest against his, breathing mingled together, hips pinning hips against the drywall behind. Green eyes met blue just long enough for an unintended, breathy groan to escaped Cas's throat and suddenly their mouths were joined again.

He wasn't really sure where his own hands were, but he was very aware of Dean's travelling down his lower back and coming to a rest on his ass. As his grip tightened, Cas thrust his hips forward, grinding his crotch against his. He moaned into Cas's mouth and the other man felt a rush of blood straight downward. The two broke apart, panting and staring at each other with lidded eyes and blown pupils. This pause didn't last for long before they were at each other again, grinding against each other, nipping lips and necks, clutching at clothing and skin.

Dean whined "Fuck!" into Cas's ear, hoisting the smaller man up, letting his legs wrap around his waist and pulling him from the wall. He sought a surface to set him down on and just fuck him senseless, pound him till he begged. Cas felt something under him and as soon as he touched down, an alarmingly loud crunching of notes erupted. Both boys jumped out of their skin. Dean abruptly let go of Cas, causing a few more notes to squeeze out, and quickly backed several feet away from him. Cas struggled to his feet and turned to see the source of the noise was the piano.

He turned back around to face Dean and the two stared at each other with no words. Neither knew just was to say, and neither knew just what drove them to do that to each other. They stared for what seemed like hours, until Dean swallowed a wave of panic and strode from the room, leaving Cas standing wide-eyed in front of the piano.

* * *

Dean's head spun. He couldn't believe he'd just done that. What has he even just done? And why did it turn him on so damn much? That was Cas, that was a _dude, _and right then he was harder than a rock. He breathed heavily through a clenched jaw and ran out of the music wing, searching desperately for a bathroom. There was a women's bathroom to his right and he really debated going in and just hoping no one was in there.

Just when he was about to duck his head and wish for the best, he noticed the men's bathroom across the hall and darted over to it, crashing into a stall and throwing the door closed. He ground the heel of his hand into his hip and dragged it down his thigh, digging the nails of his other hand into the back of his neck. He leaned heavily against the metal wall of the stall, his face scrunched in effort. _You are in a high school bathroom, Dean Winchester, _he scolded himself. _Do not touch yourself. Do. _Not. _Touch yourself. Resist. Saggy grandma tits. Saggy grandpa tits! No! Bad! Take your hand away! DEAN! Don't touch yourself! SAGGY GRANDMA TITS!_

He groaned into the grungy metal that was supporting him. His face burned against the cool surface. All he wanted to do was march back in that room and take Cas then and there.  
Just the thought scared him out of his mind.

He hugged himself, dragging his nails down his biceps and squeezing his eyes shut. Just a few days ago he was a notorious womanizer, and now suddenly he's humping a dude like a horny Shi-Tzu? Things didn't work that way. He was Dean Winchester, lead singer of The Hunt, he was crawling with chicks. Not guys. But yet here he was, barely succeeding in controlling his very inconvenient hard-on given to him by none other than a really, _really _attractive guy—

"Enough!" Dean yelped, surprising himself. But he had made up his mind. He was going to get laid tonight by some hot chick and he was going to enjoy it, end of question.

Now if only he could get out of this bathroom.

* * *

Cas was angry long after he stormed up to Balthazar and Anna and insisted that they play Paint It Black by The Rolling Stones, which they have always vamped up to make it much more intense than it really is. He was angry long after they finished the song and sat back down in the audience. He was angry while the other bands performed, he was angry after they finished, and he was angry when Kevin announced that they were done for the day and the bands that made it through to the next round will be announced in two days.

He thought he was angry at Dean. After all, he just found Cas crying in a fetal position, made out with him, then ran away. How could he do that after what he just did to him but didn't actually do to him because it was just a dream that he didn't even know about?

But, no he couldn't really pin his anger on Dean. Sure, it was a pretty dick move, but it was warranted. Why was Cas such an idiot, crying all over the place and being all desperate? He probably freaked Dean out.

But… He couldn't mistake the way Dean rutted against him just as shamelessly. Just as desperately. Maybe Cas was wrong. Maybe there was some reason for Dean suddenly fleeing that didn't meet the eye.

To test the waters, he decided he would stay after to help clean up again. Dean would probably be there. He'd either talk to Cas or avoid him, and there was only one way to find out which it would be.

When Balthazar and Anna were getting ready to leave, Cas spoke up, "Um, I'm staying after to help clean up again."

Anna glanced over at him with raised eyebrows. "Again? I'd think the first time would have turned you off. What's so attractive about cleaning up?"

"Is it a person?" Balthazar cooed. He turned to Anna, grabbing her shoulders and animatedly painting a story, "What if our little Cas is just_ saying_ he's staying late to help clean up? What if he's actually sneaking around behind our backs to rendezvous with a sexy mystery person? Meeting in private, exchanging chaste kisses when no one's looking. Imagine it, Anna. Our little Cas is growing up. Isn't that right, Cassie?"

It was obvious Balthazar was joking, but Cas's face burned anyway. "Well… I mean, not _exactly…"_

"Not exactly?" Anna repeated, her voice rising with surprise. "You mean that was a little bit right? Is there a person, Cas? Oh my gosh, are you rendezvousing?"

"No, I'm not…" Cas let out an exasperated sigh. "I'm not rendezvousing. I just… made a friend." He wouldn't call Dean a friend, per say, but there wasn't exactly a word for their relationship at the moment. A nice guy I talked to one time and then I guess we made out, but he might hate me, I'm not really sure.

"Who?" his two best friends asked simultaneously with matching levels of excitement.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Who could it possibly be?" Balthazar questioned, then continued with a heavily sarcastic tone, "Sam Winchester?"

Cas paused, shrugging sheepishly. "Wrong Winchester."

"_What?!"_

"You talked to _Dean?"_

"Cas, you can't even talk to normal people, how did you talk to Dean Winchester?"

"You're, like, friends with him now?"

"Do you have his phone number?"

Cas waited patiently for the barrage of questions to die down and simply shrugged as one overall response.

"Cas, you _have _to introduce me," Anna insisted. "I am _so_ staying after with you."

Cas felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He really wanted Anna to do anything but that, but he couldn't come out and say that. That would raise too many questions that he really didn't want to explain. So he put on a fake smirk and said, "Okay."

* * *

Half an hour had passed. Anna was inexplicably gone and there had been no sign of Dean so far.

How productive.

He had finished every clean-up job he could possibly find, and still there was no sign of Dean. Had he decided not to come today? Did he know Castiel would be there and specifically chose not to come? Did he just not feel like it? Was he really here, just avoiding him?

He sighed, wondering how a person could possibly occupy so much space in his mind. He usually spent his thoughts on things that made more sense, like birds, or the moon, or string theory. People made no sense. He didn't really like people that much.

So then why was he so damn intrigued by Dean?

He angrily pulled out his phone and sent a text to Anna.

**Where are you?**

He started making his way toward the entrance to the school, waiting by the doors for the answering message.

**Busy. Leave without me. Call you later!**

Cas furrowed his eyebrows at the words, going over them again just to make sure he read them correctly. What could she possibly be doing? There wasn't anything particularly interesting enough to stay any later than necessary.

**Busy with what?**

He walked out the doors as he sent the text, meeting the broiling hot air with reluctance and a disconcerted groan. He dragged his feet a few paces, then signaled for a cab that was driving by. It pulled over, waiting for him to half-jog up to it. As he climbed in, he received a final text from Anna.

**Call you later.**

* * *

It was about nine o'clock at night. Cas was laying on the floor in his bedroom contemplating the Placebo Effect when he got Anna's call.

"You'll never believe who I just slept with," was Anna's greeting.

"Hello to you, too."

"Cas, this is serious."

"Yes, like a heart attack. Who did you sleep with, Anna?"

"Dean Winchester."

Cas's breath caught in his throat. His hand squeezed in a fist around his phone in reaction to the drop of his stomach. "What?"

"I know! Like, I thought you were going to go meet him but then you actually started cleaning and stuff, so I just went off on my own to find him, and then I _did, _and things just went off from there. Isn't it so amazing? Like, he's so famous…"

Anna's ranting turned into a drawl at the back of Cas's mind. Of course. That's all he could think. Of course. He was a fool to think he mattered. He was a quick fuck to Dean, and when he realized how tainted Cas was, he didn't even want him. That's why he ran. Because he was just so fucking _disgusting _to him, wasn't he?

"That's incredible, Anna," Cas interrupted, sounding incredibly composed. "Listen, you kind of caught me at a bad time. I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, no problem. See you."

He crushed the end call button and tossed his phone onto his bed. He hated how much that had mattered to him. Dean was just a person, nothing more. Just another person in the masses. Just one of several billion that are exactly like him. He knows he shouldn't waste his thoughts on others; others don't waste their thoughts on him.

He turned his gaze to his desk. The top drawer had a lock on it. The area around the handle was blackened and smudged.

In that moment, and not for the first time, he deeply regretted the drawer being empty.


	5. Day three

**AN: I literally slacked off for like a week before starting this chapter. I have no excuse. But here it is. I apologize if it seems kinda ramble-y or bad writing or whatever, I basically wrote half of it on four hours of sleep (the sleep being between the hours of 8 am and 1 pm) and a latte that was continuously arguing with my stomach. Regardless, I read it over and it seems kinda okay. I at least hope you guys like it. I know a lot of you were mad at Dean, maybe this'll get him a pity card or something? Maybe not? I dunno, sleeping with his band mate was kind of a dick move, I don't know if I forgive him yet and I wrote the damn thing.**

**Speaking of, you guys have no idea how much I appreciate your reviews. I adore reading them, and I reread them every time I needed a little push to keep writing. The criticism was really helpful, and I appreciate that anyone who offered it wasn't too rude about it. Keep it coming, I appreciate every little review that I get.**

* * *

Castiel's mother was crying. At least, he thought it was his mother. It was a woman, nevertheless. Her dark brown curls spilled down her back and over her shoulders and face as she wept into her hands. He couldn't see her face, but he didn't think he would recognize her even if he could. That's something he's always regretted. She was beautiful, wasn't she? He thinks he remembers her being beautiful. She never got remarried after her husband left when Castiel was a baby, but she could have. She had the most stunning eyes; when he was little, she used to tell Cas that he had her eyes, but his were even more beautiful. She said his eyes held worlds, an entire galaxy. He didn't believe her. Nothing could be more beautiful than hers.

That's something he always remembered, when everything else was fuzzy. He saw her eyes whenever he looked in the mirror; filled with disappointment. That's how they always were. She loved him, she wanted so much for him, but Cas couldn't deliver. He hardly remembers most of his teenage years. Everything before that, his childhood, was bits and pieces.

He remembers his mother wearing a red floor-length dress, her hair done up meticulously. Her face is a blur, the scenery is a blur, but she is laughing, and it's the most wonderful thing he's ever heard. They're outside, he thinks. It's bright. Everything is very bright.

The memory snapped back to a dim room: a church, maybe. Yes, he was sure of it: that was his mother. She was sitting on a red bench—a pew?—sobbing into her hands. She cried for what felt like hours. Castiel stood and watching her keen and wail. Each noise, whether it be a cry or a whimper, twisted the knife in his gut. He watched this for hours on end until he felt as if he was going to vomit.

Then he woke up.

Cold sweat created a sheen layer over his body. He was shakily drawing in breaths that rocked his chest and made him cough and wheeze.

The nightmares had stopped for a few years. He pretended to wonder what had brought them back, but he knew. And he knew how he could stop the nightmares. And he knew that he really, really, really shouldn't.

* * *

"Don't do it, Dean," the man told himself, sprawled backwards on the surprisingly comfortable hotel bed. Although, it better be comfortable, with the price they paid for it. It was supposedly a five-star hotel. He had never been used to fancy hotels when growing up, but now that he was famous or whatever, he had money to burn.

"Don't do it," he repeated, but his fingers were already moving over the keyboard of his laptop.

'Smite the Sound Castiel' he typed, pretending he hadn't. He didn't know who he was fooling, because it definitely wasn't himself.

The band wasn't particularly well known, apparently. After some digging Dean had found a site telling about a gig in some bar that the band had played last year. It displayed the names of the band members and—aha, Castiel Novak.

He pressed the 'back' button and typed the recently discovered full name into Google. And, wow, it was amazing what you could find on the internet.

He hadn't played in many gigs, but apparently he had played in enough to earn a full fucking fact sheet about him. It was all there, his height—5' 11"—his weight—160 lbs—his eye color—blue, glorious blue…

He bookmarked the page before he knew what he was doing, then pressed back again, switching to Google Images this time. The first thing he noticed was a similar image repeated all over the page. A mug shot? Several different mug shots? What the hell, was this guy some sort of serial killer? Nah, he looked like he couldn't be older than seventeen or eighteen in most of these pictures, serial killing would get him in jail or at least juvie for a long time. But he looked completely messed up in each, like he hadn't slept in years, or he drank himself to near death the night before. Nothing like how he looked now. And he was painfully thin; his skin was stretched tight over his cheekbones and the collarbone visible in the v of his shirt.

He clicked on a picture and followed the link to the site it was from. Unfortunately, it came up as some sort of blocked website that required a password to enter. He returned to the image search, observing the link of one of his younger pictures—he couldn't have been older than 13 or 14—and noticed some key words- "breaking_and_entering." He clicked on a bit older picture, maybe 15, and saw "%aa_theft." The other links were just pointless letters and underscores and percent signs. Breaking and entering and theft? Those weren't so bad. Teenagers have done worse. Then again, there could be worse hidden behind those other mug shots.

He sighed, accepting the fact that he was probably not going to find out what other criminal activity Cas experienced in his past. He returned to the original Google search and scrolled through the web pages until one made him freeze with his finger on the scroll button. Was that… a porn site?

He clicked it so fast he was sure he left burn marks on the track pad.

It was, indeed, a porn site. No, it was a goddamn _gay porn site. _Cas was one of the listed porn stars, with three videos on the site.

He clicked on one titled "Slutty teen does whatever you ask him to," eyeing the other "Brunette hottie takes it in the ass" and "Skinny teen rides fat cock."

He knew that he would deny doing this until the day he died. He already felt dirty. He was actually about to watch a gay child porn video starring a guy he knows as an adult? Hell yes he was. But, no, he wasn't going to enjoy it. This was strictly research. What kind of research? Excellent question.

The video started up with crappy camcorder quality and centered on Cas, who looked sixteen or seventeen. He was simply staring at something or someone behind the camera for a moment before a voice instructed, "Why don't you strip for me, baby?"

Without a second of hesitation, Cas's hands went to the buttons on his blue button-up and began to slip them out of their hold.

"Ah, ah," the voice behind the camera chastised aggressively, "slower."

Cas complied, trailing a finger down the areas between buttons. He looked directly into the camera, swiping his tongue over his lips as he undid the last button and let the shirt slide off his shoulders to the ground.

"Skinny" was certainly a word for him. Dean thought "malnourished" was more appropriate. His ribs and collarbone were poking out, but evidently not enough to turn people off, judging by the 2,000 views on the video. He had to admit, he couldn't see anything about him that would turn someone off.

_Jesus, Dean, he's a kid._

_Not anymore…_

Cas started on the belt buckle, making sure to brush some fingers over his crotch as he pulled that loose and unbuttoned his jeans, dragging them down his thighs and dropping them on the ground. When his underwear followed, the voice muttered, "Yeah, now come suck my dick."

Cas dropped to his knees as the camera adjusted the view to reveal a fully erect dick that he was headed for. Dean's jaw dropped as Cas immediately took the entire length into his mouth, sucking fiercely on it for a second before sliding his mouth back off and releasing it with a pop. He took it back in his mouth and continued at a steady rhythm, not quite deep-throating as deeply, but still enough to make one wonder if he even had a gag reflex. He elicited grunts and groans from the man holding the camera.

"Dude, are you watching gay porn?"

Dean jumped approximately seven miles into the air and shut his computer at approximately the speed of light. "Son of a _bitch, _Sam, do you knock?"

Sam's disgusted expression turned amused as muffled moans continued to emit from his closed computer for several seconds. Dean quickly flipped it over and yanked out the battery.

"Hey, man, I'm not judging. It's about time you came out."

"I'm not—" Dean ground his teeth together and hissed, "What do you want?"

"I just came in to say it was almost time to go, but we can wait a bit longer if you need some alone time."

"We're leaving," Dean growled, standing up and marching out the door. Sam laughed to himself the whole way to the first floor.

As they exited the lobby, they were greeted by several flashes of light and a swarm of people shoving microphones and yelling questions.

"Shit, the paparazzi found us," Dean muttered to his brother.

"Think they're here about your gay porn fetish?" He teased with an amused glint in his eye.

"You're hilarious, Sam."

They shoved past the paparazzi and made their way to Dean's Impala. Dean insisted to his agent that he was not getting a limo or any chauffer. He loved this car too damn much to switch it out for some prissy limo, and there's no way he'd let anyone drive it that wasn't himself or _maybe _Sammy, if the enormous man was being nice that day. For example, this was not one of those days.

And, truthfully, driving cleared his head, which he very much needed at that moment. He did _not _want to go to this damn high school and face so many people in one room that he did not want to face.

First of all, screwing that girl was a mistake. He knew it was as soon as it happened. He recognized her a bit; she was probably in one of the bands that were competing in the competition. Just one more person he didn't want to face. He didn't want her thinking she wasn't just a one-night-stand. Things could turn messy. And he felt almost guilty about having sex with her. It was strange; casual sex had never bothered him before. He just had a bad feeling that he really knew her from somewhere and he just wasn't remembering.

Speaking of people he didn't want to face, Cas was at the very top of that list. Not only did he just watch his teenage self strip and then suck a guy off, but he liked it a whole lot more than he had any right to. He had no idea what seeing the man in person was going to do to him. Not to mention the fact that he may or may not have made out with him and then ran away the last time he saw him.

And then there was Crowley. Fucking Crowley. He was such a pain in the ass, with his little band of shitfaces that only existed to screw up the lives of the Winchesters. He couldn't count on all his fingers and toes how many rumors he's spread about the members of The Hunt. Not that Dean particularly cared about his reputation, but sometimes it made it hard to pick up chicks when they thought he had broken out of jail after being arrested for the murder of several prostitutes.

He blatantly ignored the sick feeling in his stomach when he thought about "picking up chicks."

They pulled into the parking lot of the blessedly paparazzi-free high school. As the brothers were getting out of the car, Sam looked at Dean with the face he wore whenever he wanted Dean to "talk" about something. Something like pity and caution mixed together. "You know, Dean, even though I was teasing you, it's okay if you like—"

"Alright, listen to me." Dean walked over to his brother's side of the car and held up his hands, making deliberate movements with each word he spoke, "I don't. Like. Men. Okay? I don't. I am straight. I regularly have sex with women. I don't know how you fail to see this."

"This kind of stuff isn't black and white, you know."

"This conversation is over."

He turned his back and started walking to the school to emphasize his point. Sam let out a frustrated sigh and followed him, matching his long strides. "Dean—" he began, but Dean interrupted frigidly.

"I will deal with this when I am ready to deal with this, you understand me?"

Sam pulled in front of his brother and turned to face him, stopping his pace. "I know you, Dean. You'd rather bury your problems than face them, and I'm not going to let you this time. You could have found someone that makes you genuinely happy, someone that's actually right for you rather than a one-night-stand, and you'd be too pigheaded to jump on that because they're a guy. You've _always _had this problem. Don't you remember high school?"

"_Yes _I remembered high school," Dean assured aggressively, "I remember Dad scowling at every goddamn gay couple we passed. I remember him talking about grandkids, about me growing up and getting married to some beautiful woman. I remember pretending I hated Jimmy and pushing him away because I was too fucking _scared of what Dad thought!" _Dean's voice had somehow risen to a shout, and Sam matched this volume in his response.

"Newsflash, Dean: Dad is dead! You let him control you your entire life, you can't let him do it from the grave!"

"Um," a low, quiet voice interrupted timidly, "Excuse me."

The Winchesters looked over to see a blushing Castiel pointedly avoiding eye contact with them. The arguing men were confused when he simply stood there fidgeting until they realized they had been fighting in front of the door, blocking access to the building.

"Sorry," Sam apologized, stepping out of the way and allowing him past. Dean swiped a hand through his hair, not thinking clearly enough to move. He wondered how long Cas had been standing there. What he had heard.

Visibly cowering under Dean's scrutinizing eye, Cas scurried past the brothers and into the school. His bicep brushed Dean's chest and the older Winchester blanched. This guy had no right to send chills up his spine with accidental contact. He had no right to make Dean question his sexuality when—fuck, how long had he known the guy? A week? Had it really only been a week? What the hell did he even feel for him, anyway? Dean had experienced sexual attraction enough times to recognize it in an instant. Sure, there was some of that there (more than he'd like to admit), but something else, too. Something warm, nagging. Curiosity? Whatever the feeling was, it was unfamiliar.

Dean stared hard at the man's retreating form. He tried very hard not to imagine a skinny, half-naked (God forbid fully-naked) teenager in his place.

This look was not missed by Sam, who piped up, "That's him, isn't it?"

"Might be," Dean muttered weakly before proceeding into the building himself.

Sam followed, stopping Dean once more. "Dean," he started softly. Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "I'm sorry. About yelling. Dad…" his voice trailed off, and he sighed before picking back up again. "It wasn't easy to see it growing up, but Dad loved us a lot. He wanted us to be safe. And he wanted us to be happy, even if he didn't always know what our happiness constituted. Sure, he was controlling, but… He would have accepted whoever you brought home, even if it took a bit of time. As long as they made you happy. So, if you're going to continue to base your life around the man, at least realize what he really wanted for you."

Sam's hand had somehow ended up on his brother's shoulder, and he let it slide off as he half-jogged ahead of Dean, who was frozen in place. He took deep breaths to calm himself down, slowly processing what Sam had said to him. He was right, of course. He usually was. But that didn't mean Dean was ready to accept everything he mentioned.

He shuffled forward toward the auditorium, barely paying attention to his surroundings until his hand was on the auditorium door and an all-too-familiar, gravelly British accent said coolly, "Winchester."

Dean turned to face him, snapping back to the world around him. "What do you want, Crowley?" he snapped, dread pooling in his gut. If he had heard any of that conversation with Sam…

"Where's your better half?" he paused, adding with a smirk, "Your not-so-little lap dog?"

He sighed with relief. Evidently he hadn't heard. Dean was too distracted to come up with a snarky response, and instead ground out, "Dunno."

"Shame. I was so looking forward to having a chat before the competition started."

"You can look forward to staying the hell away from him."

Crowley clucked his tongue. "So protective, squirrel. Always letting your big mouth get ahead of you. I'd be careful who you threaten. It seems I may be gaining some… interesting leverage over you, if this day goes the way I planned."

A cold hand clutched Dean's heart. What did he know?

The wretched man smirked maliciously as he circled Dean and entered the auditorium.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sam had followed his brother's crush into the auditorium and was trying to figure out what to say before approaching him. What exactly does one say in this situation? He decided on just winging it and strode over to the dark-haired man.

"Hi," he started, and a pair of blue eyes darted over to him, "I'm Sam." He held out his hand for a handshake and was taken aback at the man's large flinch away from the motion. His smile faltered and he slowly lowered his hand, apologizing as more of a question. "Sorry?"

"N-no," he stuttered, and Sam was surprised by his deep voice. His singing didn't sound much like his talking voice, though both were actually rather pleasing to listen to. "No, I—don't—don't worry about it, I just—is there something you need?"

"Well, no, not necessarily… I just noticed that you've talked to my brother a time or two and figured I'd introduce myself."

"Oh. H-hello." There was a short pause before he seemed to remember himself and added, "I'm Castiel."

Sam grinned. "Nice to meet you, Castiel." The smaller man offered a nervous smirk and a short nod, so Sam changed the topic, "My brother, Dean, he… can come off kinda gruff, but he's really a good guy. He just has a hard time making friends when he doesn't think it'll result in a quickie," he joked with a wink. The color drained from Castiel's face and Sam guessed he had made a mistake in saying that, though he couldn't tell why. Was Dean's crush requited? Did Dean know about this? He wondered exactly what had happened between the two that he had missed.

"He likes you, you know. I can tell." Castiel's eyes dropped to the floor and Sam added softly, "He could use a friend."

He noticed Castiel's band mates walking through the auditorium doors, so he smiled at his averted eyes and said, "It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you later."

He made his exit and just caught Castiel's male band mate saying, "Both Winchesters, Cassie? What are we gonna do with you?"

* * *

Crowley's comment had bothered Dean more than it should have. What the hell did the scumbag know? What kind of leverage did he think he had? Dean needed to know and desperately didn't want to find out.

What if he knew about Dean's interest in Cas? What would happen then? Would he tell paparazzi? Would he tell Cas? Would he _hurt _Cas? Dean was furious just thinking about that.

What would he care if the paparazzi knew? What's the worst that could happen, loosing a couple homophobic fans?

But if Crowley ran up to Cas and shouted, "Hey, Dean Winchester's got a big gay crush on you!" exactly what harm would that do either? It's not like he was subtle when he pinned the guy against a wall a sucked his face off. Maybe… maybe push coming to shove was a good thing. Maybe it'll jump start him in the right direction, like asking the dude out on a date or something. Lord knows he needed a jump start.

But if Crowley_hurt _Cas somehow… he didn't know what he'd do.

He automatically clapped along with the audience around him as Kevin hurried onto the stage. He announced that Smite the Sound was next, and Dean took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He had studiously refused to look over at Cas in the section to his right. But now he was going to be performing on stage in the center of attention and he wasn't sure how he was going to handle that.

As he and his band mates climbed to the stage, Dean braced himself. But he was not at all expecting his stomach to go flying out his mouth and punch him in the face.

Oh, shit. Oh, _fucking—_

The girl.

God _damnit. _He was such an idiot. Of course, that's where he recognized her—she was Cas's motherfucking guitarist. His friggin' friend, and he just fucked her.

Did she tell him? Dean had no idea. Cas was acting extreme docile around him, sure, but that was to be expected after the last time they saw each other—

Dean sighed. He needed to apologize for that. He needed to apologize for a lot of things.

But he begged his stomach for another punch in the face when he realized that there was no way he'd have the balls to face Cas that day.

* * *

Crowley looked down his nose at the piles of trash littered around the apartment. He maneuvered as deliberately as possible through the small spaces where you could see the floor, careful not to get anything on his expensive leather shoes. He approached the couch, where the man had still not noticed him enter. He wondered how engrossed in himself he was to completely ignore all the sounds Crowley had made in his trek across the living room. He was probably drunk, or something much more illegal. Not that it concerned Crowley; illegal was just a word to him.

To be honest, this man was a bit pathetic. He was threatening, sure, but he had a sad home life. Crowley was diligent; he did his homework. Made sure he was a good choice. But he knew the moment he saw him that he was a perfect choice for this. He could tell by the look about him; he was cunning. Merciless. Angry. All good things for Crowley to benefit from.

"Rise and shine, sport," he shouted. The man jolted and threw his gaze to Crowley with a threat displayed in his features. The British singer was not threatened. In fact, he grinned. That had confirmed his faith in this man, the fact that he reacted with anger rather than fear at an intruder.

"Down, boy," he instructed snidely, and the man looked him over warily.

His gaze was calculating. A bit cocky. Unamused, but not uninterested. He was wondering why this man was in his house.

"Lucifer." Pale blue eyes snapped to Crowley's. "Just the man I needed to see."


End file.
